The Moon in My Pocket

All day
I carried the moon
in my coat pocket.

Not the moon itself,
of course.

Just a button
fallen from an old cardigan.

Pearl-white.
Cold.
Round as a secret.

Still,
I kept touching it
to make sure
it was there.

At traffic lights.
In queues.
During conversations
about weather,
mortgages,
the price of things.

My fingers finding
that small circle
of borrowed light.

By evening,
the moon had warmed.
It knew the shape
of my hand.

And I wondered
how many impossible things
we carry through life,
mistaking them
for ordinary objects.

A photograph.
A key.
A name.
A button
stitched once
to someone's heart.

Gracy Judith
@therooftoppoet